Strange Attraction
by ozgcg
Summary: Anya has moved on and Xander seeks consolation in alcohol and his best guy friend, both of whom end up discovering something new about themselves in the process. Season 6 AU-ish. M/M slash. One shot.


A/N: So, lately I've grown kind of_ very_ fond of the idea of Xander and Oz as a couple. It's actually bordering on obsession now, which is why I felt I needed to write a fic to let it all out. There's actually a severe lack of this pairing in this site and, well, everywhere else, and that makes me sad because my shipping heart needs to be fed! But I digress. AU in which Oz never leaves Sunnydale and there is a bigger time gap between the events in "Entropy" and "Seeing Red," I suppose. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated, as always.

* * *

So that was it. The wedding was cancelled and Anya was sleeping with Spike. Xander didn't understand why she'd turn to Spike, of all living or dead individuals, but he wasn't gonna spend all his time sulking about it.

That, of course, was a lie. He was gonna sulk around all he wanted, because now he had nothing better to do. Who cared if it had now been a week and everyone was telling him to get over it? They didn't understand that he _was _over it, over her even, and whatever bad choices he was making now were being made deliberately so. If Anya was seeking consolation in vampires, he could seek consolation in something just as deadly and morally frowned upon.

"Sweet, sweet alcohol," he mused, holding the brown beer bottle up and examining it absentmindedly, "you and my parents were the bane of my existence my entire childhood, and yet here we are, meeting at last."

He had told himself he wouldn't go down this road. In fact, that had been the whole reason for calling off the wedding. Of course, a lot had changed since then. If Anya wanted to move on, then he sure as hell would move on too. And if the way to do it was to get drunk while listening to the most depressing music in his collection, so be it.

He was just raising the bottle to his mouth when he was interrupted by someone knocking at the door.

"Go away!" he yelled, raising the bottle to his mouth again.

"Open the door, Xander," Oz's calm, even voice responded; Xander was surprised to be able to hear him over Bonnie Tyler's incessant belting about falling apart currently blaring from his stereo's speakers. Sighing, he put his beer down, got up and walked toward the door. Oz should have considered himself lucky; he wouldn't have opened the door just for anyone.

Xander opened the door and was greeted by Oz and his usual Zen. He was standing with such calm and ease that Xander was taken aback. Most of the people who had come to see him had only come to tell him off, each in their own special way. Willow and Tara had come together, both tackling his issues one by one as the well-oiled renewed couple machine that they were. Giles had attempted to give him profound advice that Xander didn't really process, much like he did with most of what Giles always said. Buffy hadn't even shown yet, probably because she knew Xander would confront her about Spike the moment she did. And now Oz was here to berate him in some way or another, or maybe to give him some philosophical Ozian advice intended to raise his spirits.

Then again, he had no way of knowing why Oz was there. For all he knew, he was just there to borrow some sugar. One could never tell with that trademark poker face of his.

"Nice music," Oz said, not making any attempts to walk into the apartment.

"Thanks. Nice, uh, hair," Xander said, eyeing Oz's ever-changing hair, which was dirty blonde that day.

"Thanks," Oz nodded, still standing in place.

"Are you gonna come in?" Xander asked, watching the shorter man bemusedly.

"Yes, now that I know you won't mind," Oz said, quirking his lip ever so slightly in what Xander had long learned was his version of a full grin and stepping through the threshold.

"If you're here to tell me I'm an idiot, save your breath," Xander began, closing the door behind Oz.

"Actually, I'm here to hang out," Oz said, blinking, "unless you'd rather me berate you in ten words or less."

"Well, aren't you my little ray of sunshine," Xander said, slumping down on the couch again, "everyone else just wants to psychologically analyze me. I think Tara actually used me as her project for Psych 101 or whatever it is she's taking."

"I figured," Oz nodded, sitting on the armchair next to the couch and watching Xander attentively.

"I mean, I'm fine," Xander went on, taking a swig of beer, "she's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine! I'm moving on here, people! No need to beat a dead horse."

"Hm."

"People keep bringing it up, you know?" Xander muttered, "It really doesn't help me in any way!"

"I'm not bringing it up," Oz said, blinking, "but it seems you want to."

Xander frowned.

"I'm babbling," he said, smacking Oz's arm, "you're supposed to stop me when I babble!"

"You seemed so into it," Oz said, raising his eyebrows.

"I wasn't," Xander said, taking another swig of beer, "it's just all this pent up frustration, you know? I need to get it out."

"Sounds like you need relaxation," Oz said.

"Got it covered," Xander said, smiling wryly and shaking his beer bottle, "want one?"

"I don't have any heartbreak to drown in alcohol," Oz said, shaking his head, "not anything recent, at least."

"This is my house, mister," Xander said, grabbing one of the unopened bottles on the coffee table and shoving it into Oz's hands, "we're both single, lonely men and tonight, we drink!"

Oz raised his eyebrows but did not protest.

"That's my man," Xander said, taking a particularly long drink from his bottle.

"Consider this a bonding experience," Oz said, uncapping his bottle.

"Ah, but I consider us bonded enough already," Xander said, grinning and finishing the last of his beer before reaching for another, "this is just non-sentimental drinking, okay?"

"Sorry?"

"Non-sentimental drinking," Xander explained, "it's my own term, means drinking for no reason whatsoever. Cause who needs a reason to drink, right? You just do it!"

"That's not exactly the best mantra to live by," Oz said, frowning slightly.

"It is when you're part of my family," Xander said sardonically, uncapping his bottle and taking a generous swig.

Oz frowned again, more noticeably this time, but didn't say anything. Instead he took a small, neat sip from his beer. He was always so neat when it came to eating and drinking, always cutting his food into smaller pieces and chewing with his mouth closed and all that Xander often wondered if these mannerisms were deliberate. Maybe he felt he had to make up for those three nights of wild wolfiness by being neat and tidy guy the other twenty-seven days of the month. Or maybe he was just naturally like that, there was really no way of knowing. Oz wasn't your average guy, he actually had layers that most people never got to see because he never shared them. Xander had taken it upon himself to uncover each of these layers in order to fully understand him. It was almost like a game, figuring Oz out. So far, he figured he was about a tenth of the way to figuring him out completely.

"What's on your mind?"

"Wha-?" Xander jumped a little at the sound of Oz's voice.

"You look pensive," Oz said, watching Xander with a piercing look that actually stirred something inside of him, making his stomach all squirmy. Or maybe that was just the beer working it's magic at last.

"It's nothing," Xander said, shaking his head. Oz merely nodded and continued to take small, controlled sips of beer, occasionally glancing at Xander curiously. After a few seconds of silence, Xander began to get antsy. He couldn't help it, he felt like he needed to fill the silence with words of any kind.

"So, what do you wanna do?" he asked after drinking the last of his beer.

"It's your house, man," Oz said, shrugging, "entertain the guest."

"Okay, you asked for it," Xander said, raising his eyebrows, "let me get the handcuffs."

"Oh, I don't do that outside full moon nights," Oz said, quirking his eyebrows, "maybe if you bought me dinner first."

"He jokes!" Xander exclaimed, grinning, "Such a rare occasion."

"My jokes are of the subtle variety," Oz said, smiling.

"I enjoy them," Xander said, still grinning. He grabbed another beer bottle and attempted to open it, fumbling with the bottle opener and dropping it.

"Here," Oz said, standing up, picking up the bottle opener and sitting next to Xander on the couch. He took the bottle from Xander and flipped the cap off, then handed it back to him.

"See, this is great," Xander said, taking a drink of beer and putting his arm around Oz, "just us guys, doing the guy thing. We don't need women to make us happy!"

"No, we do," Oz said, finishing his beer at last, "at least it feels that way now."

"They play us around," Xander went on, "they tell us they love us, and we love them of course, but the moment we screw up, they let us go and everything comes crashing down."

"Don't I know it," Oz said, opening a new bottle and taking a somewhat rougher sip from it.

"Sometimes I feel like giving up on them altogether," Xander muttered, finishing his beer in one long gulp. Oz only nodded absentmindedly, then took another swig from his own bottle.

"I don't need to date any more women," Xander continued, grabbing yet another bottle and passing it to Oz so he could open it, "not like I'll miss the mind games and constant nagging. And anyway-"

Somehow, he managed to stop himself from continuing that sentence, taking a gratuitous sip of beer from the bottle Oz had just given back to him instead. He had been about to blab, right here, next to Oz. Now was really not the time to discuss his insecurities about his own sexuality with his only guy best friend. _Especially _with his only guy best friend. No, there was no need to mention those very graphic dreams he usually had involving him and other men in compromising situations, or how he had suspected he may have been bi ever since freshman year of high school or oh god, what if there was a mind-reading demon wandering around outside, picking up his thoughts like radio waves? What if it was blurting out these deepest, darkest secrets of his at that very moment? What if-?

"What?"

This time Xander really did jump off his seat at the sound of Oz's voice. He had been staring like an idiot, with his mouth hanging wide open too, no doubt. The alcohol was really starting to get to him.

"What 'what'?" he asked in what he hoped was a smooth tone as he attempted, and failed, to sit back up on the couch. Damn alcohol...

"You stopped abruptly," Oz said, holding out his hand and helping Xander up, "before you fell."

"No, nothing," Xander said, sinking back into the couch next to Oz and cradling his bottle pathetically.

"You said you were done with women?" Oz asked.

"Maybe not entirely," Xander said, chuckling nervously.

"But the thought has crossed your mind?"

Xander looked up at Oz and attempted to decipher his facial expression with all his senses not yet affected by the beer. Of course, that was a lost battle.

"Do you have a psychology project to complete, too?" Xander asked tentatively.

"No," Oz said, blinking and taking another quiet sip of beer. Xander's heart had just began to beat faster, though he had no idea why.

"It's just, it never worked out with the women I've dated," he went on, "Cordelia? I broke her heart. Anya? I broke her heart too."

"Those are only two," Oz pointed out.

"The rest of the time I'm attracting demon chicks," Xander continued, "see? Me plus women never works out."

"I screwed things up with the only woman I've ever truly loved, left her instead of trying to work through our problems, then came back expecting her to have been waiting for me," Oz said, giving Xander that piercing look again, "she's dating another woman now."

"Your point...?"

"Just empathizing with you," Oz said, patting Xander's shoulder lightly.

"Maybe we're not meant to date anyone, ever," Xander said, smiling grimly.

"Maybe," Oz said, frowning slightly, "maybe we're just not meant to date women."

"You think?" Xander asked, turning to Oz. He was only just beginning to register the fact that Oz's hand had never left his shoulder.

"I think," Oz muttered, but whatever he actually did think Xander never found out, for at that moment he had leaned forward and pressed his lips against Oz's. No buildup, no real reason for it, just an impulsive kiss that was bound to end in the destruction of their friendship. This was stupid, but Oz had just been there and Xander wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man and his alcohol-impaired brain didn't follow rational thinking and oh god, _was Oz kissing back?_

Xander's eyes flew open, his mind and heart racing as he registered the whole thing. He was kissing Oz, and Oz was kissing back. And it was definitely not like kissing a girl. Oz's face was rough, his stubble gently brushing against Xander's skin as he continued to kiss him. He was tender, snaking his arm around Xander's neck, running his fingers through his hair lightly, moaning ever so slightly as Xander's brain caught up to him and he began to kiss back more passionately.

So this was it. Another one of Oz's layers revealed, and Xander was glad to have been the one to reveal it. Maybe that was just the alcohol talking. But no, that wasn't the alcohol talking. That was him, Xander Harris, talking, and Xander Harris was done trying to make up excuses for his inexplicable attraction to men. This was the moment he'd been building up to all these years, and he was sharing it with Oz, his only guy best friend. He had no idea how the hell they had both ended up this way, but he wasn't asking any questions.

"Question," Oz muttered, pulling away from Xander slightly, "how much does this all mean to you?"

Xander frowned, feeling slightly irritated at the sudden lack of kissage.

"You're my first guy kiss," he said, raising his eyebrows, "means a lot to me."

Oz smirked, leaning forward again and kissing Xander full-force. It was pure bliss to Xander, what with the hands and the tongues and the subtle moaning. Soon Xander was kissing down Oz's jawline, making his way down to his neck, taking in Oz's familiar scent and smiling as the man shivered at the feel of his lips against his skin. The more of Oz he had, the more Xander wanted. It was a craving he couldn't explain, but as his hands slowly traveled under Oz's shirt and over his warm skin, he somehow knew he'd always had it in him.

"Wait, Xander," Oz muttered, pulling back and stopping Xander's hand with his, "we can't."

"Why?" Xander asked a little more impatiently than he had intended.

"This means too much to me," Oz said, frowning, "and it probably doesn't mean anything to you. You're drunk."

"Ever so observant," Xander said, smirking, "but you fail to see that I am not drunk, just tipsy."

"My point remains," Oz said, standing up, "I'm not one to show much emotion, and maybe that's why you haven't noticed how I actually feel about you yet. I can't do this with you while knowing that you can't reciprocate, it's-"

Oz didn't have time to finish his sentence, for Xander had just stood up too and, in one quick motion that should have been physically impossible in his buzzed state, had swept Oz into his arms and kissed him again. No, he wasn't gonna let Oz walk out of his apartment thinking that Xander couldn't understand him, that he didn't share similar feelings, or that what they were sharing now meant nothing to him.

Everything made perfect sense now. His fixation with understanding Oz, his need to be the first one to truly know him, Oz's apparent inability to hug him, the way their eyes always seemed to travel back to one another wherever they were. The signs had all been there, and as he and Oz slowly made their way to Xander's bedroom, neither man wishing to break the kiss, Xander felt foolish for never picking up on them.

It didn't matter anymore though, Xander thought as they both fell back onto his bed. There was no need for secret signs anymore. Everything was out in the open and crystal clear at last.

* * *

Xander woke up to the sun's bright rays glaring in his face and the distant sounds of clinking glass. He squinted around the room, looking for a sign that the previous night hadn't just been a mere fabrication of his muddled brain. This sure felt like a morning after, but as Xander sat up and looked at the empty space next to him on the bed, he couldn't help but smile. This wasn't like a morning after. For starters, sex was needed in order for the next morning to be a 'morning after.' That alone proved it hadn't been a dream. If it had been, it would have involved sex from beginning to end. No, there had been no sex, but that night had been so perfect that Xander felt there had been no need for it.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was only now beginning to realize the clinking sounds had stopped. He looked around and saw shirtless Oz leaning against the bedroom doorframe, holding his shirt in his hands and watching Xander with those piercing eyes that made his stomach all squirmy. His expression, however, remained as enigmatic as ever.

"I cleaned your living room," he said, twisting his shirt in his hands, "it was bottles galore out there."

"Thanks," Xander said, smiling and attempting not to stare at Oz's body, which was surprisingly well-built for such a small man.

A few seconds passed in which Oz stood in place, still watching Xander intently but not saying a word. Meanwhile, Xander fought to formulate the right words to say to Oz, but his brain was still in the process of waking up. Instead, he just sat there, trying to think while trying his best to keep his eyes from wandering back to Oz's body.

"I have class in a few hours," Oz said at last, slipping into his shirt, picking up his jacket and beginning to back out of the room, "I'll see you later."

"Wait!" Xander said, feeling his heartbeat quicken by the second. Oz stopped and watched him attentively. Xander wished he wouldn't, it only made it harder for him to speak the words he wanted to speak.

"I, uh, I was wondering," he stammered, wringing his sheets anxiously, "what we did last night, if you maybe wanted to do it again tonight?"

Oh, real smooth. Why was he even allowed to speak? How had he even passed English class in high school? Had that even made grammatical sense? Was the look on Oz's face one of mocking and silent judgement? Xander felt his face burning red hot, and suddenly he was very thankful that his room was so poorly lit. It was a couple of tense seconds before Oz's lips curved in that familiar way, the Ozian full grin that made Xander's heart skip multiple beats out of joy and relief.

"Buy me dinner first," he said, swinging his jacket over his shoulder and walking out of the room, leaving Xander grinning to himself like an idiot.


End file.
